


Sidestepping along Parallel Lines

by annieke



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annieke/pseuds/annieke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny's lived these past years, months, days knowing exactly who he wants to be with in the best of the worst possible ways. He does, he wants to be in Steve's bed, wants Steve in his, and he's thinking he'd really like that now. Now, as in, right now.<br/>There be porn ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sidestepping along Parallel Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaige68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaige68/gifts).



> Written for Kaige68, who asked for:
> 
> First times, which this is in a way.  
> Humor, which y' know, hopefully.  
> And who also said this: I'm all over the place, everything is wonderful.  
> Which is a relief considering this fic started with a fleeting resemblance to one of the suggested scenarios, but quickly veered right into this instead.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Typical, Danny thinks. "Control issues."

"Yeah, yeah," Steve replies with a wave of dripping hand. "So you've said, and so I've heard you mention a time or two—or twelve, y' know, hundred."

Not for a second does Danny miss the put-upon sigh tagging along with the pretty massive eye roll Steve throws at him. Like that's going to stop him from calling Steve out on his control issues—of which there are plenty.

He's watching Steve reload the dishwasher—yet again—which is what started this whole discussion to begin with, not that it really surprises him given Steve's proclivity for ultimate control. Over everything, dishwashers apparently included.

It's been a long week topped off by an even longer day, and Danny was sure they'd never get the hell of out of Dodge, so to speak, or the office, anyway. So much running around, never mind the mountain of paperwork they'll have to tackle come Monday. Still, they did actually get to leave.

Now it's Friday night and work is over for the next couple of days (oh please, let work be over) and he's still at Steve's after having eaten a surprisingly well-grilled McGarrett specialty steak dinner accompanied by a fairly amazing salad, potatoes and a pretty damn good bottle of cabernet franc. Which leaves the rest of the evening wide open for just the two of them and he'd feel pretty damned excited about that except…

Steve suddenly feels the need to redo the placement of every single dish and glass Danny's already loaded in the dishwasher, and that about sends him into apoplexy. Just so fucking typically Steve. If anyone is deserving of letting the eyes roll, it's _him_. He nods toward the rack full of dripping dishes and tries not to sound too blistering because, after all, they are just dishes, but jesus.

"Okay, but see, not only do you somehow feel the need to refit and rework every plate and glass I stuck in there already—now you're taking them out and rinsing them all off, too." There is no glare sharp or deadly enough for this precise moment. "You really are a freak!"

Steve barely sends him a glance sideways while still moving glasses and plates around although his eyes are still doing the rolling in exasperation thing. "Danny, this dishwasher has been here since I was a kid, and if you don't rinse off the plates first, it just isn’t going to get them clean enough to use. So, it's not that I'm a freak about it, it's just that I’m—"

Danny cuts him off with a raised finger. "Oh, rest assured, my friend, you are so very a freak."

Now Steve is frowning at him. "No. I'm a—"

"Freak. Control freak. Clean freak."

"You know what, Danny? Neater than you is not freakish. It's not even unusual. It's normal. Trust me on this."

"You're anal."

"You would know," Steve says rapid-fire with a blatant lascivious grin and knowing wink and good god, it's not like Danny doesn't know how easily he just sashayed himself into that one.

"Cute, yeah. Okay. That's cute, Steven." He can't sound any more sarcastic if he wanted—and he does want. "Dishes to sex. You're a real funny guy for such a completely controlling anal fucker."

Steve's eyebrow shoots the curl and his grin widens enough that now Danny's rolling his own eyes because leave it to Steve to completely debase a discussion about dishes.

"Are you purposely trying to set me up here, Danno? Because, seriously, that statement is almost perfect enough it needs no response. Controlling anal fucker. We'll just let it lay there in all its insinuating innuendo-ness to be appreciated for exactly what it means."

Danny shakes his head because this is all just so Steve. The idiot. He leans on the kitchen counter and twirls the saltshaker around in his hand, spinning it back and forth over the table and trying not to look up at Steve who he can feel is staring at him. Grinning. Evilly. "Anal-minded, you idiot, and don't even start—I already heard it the second I said it." Points a finger. "I’m just saying that by nature and even more so by military, you have control issues. Big ones."

The dishwasher beeps as it begins its wash cycle, and Steve turns toward him, resting a hip against the counter as he dries his hands on a towel. "Well, I am an alpha."

Danny puts a backspin on the shaker, nods his head with a small laugh. "I know that. We all know that—but you know what? So am I. I'm an alpha, too."

"Okay. Yeah. I see that."

"Oh, you _cede_ that, did you say?" Danny laughs and sends the shaker twirling again in a tight spin, never mind the flurry of salt granules spraying the counter in a wide arc. 

Steve reaches down and stops the spinning, setting the shaker back upright and Danny half grins at the expression on Steve's face. Jesus, he loves to push Steve's buttons. Yeah. Control issues out the wazoo. He fingers a swirly trail through all the spilled salt.

"Cede. No. I don't think that's quite what I said." Steve replies, staring at the fan of salt then grabbing a paper towel.

Danny nods. "Okay, fine. You're an alpha, I'm an alpha. Just two alphas in a pod."

"My pod," Steve repeats with a chuckle.

"What's _your_ pod?"

"Well, a group of young seals is called a pod. I'm young. I'm an alpha, and I'm a SEAL. Ergo, my pod."

"You're deranged," Danny scoffs. "And don't _ergo_ me. Besides, I told you. I’m an alpha, too."

"Okay, but see, here's the important part. Are you listening, Danno? I'm the bigger alpha."

Which, really? He points a finger at Steve. "See? See? That is exactly my point. You just had to say that, didn't you? Couldn’t just let it go that we're both sitting here with alpha thoughts, alpha ways, alpha means, alpha proclivities. You just have to be the alpha on top to shove it in with the 'I'm bigger.'"

Steve laughs. "Do you even listen to yourself? Shove it in," Steve repeats with a raised eyebrow and not so tiny leering grin. He even giggles a bit. "That sounds specifically specific."

Which… "Really, Steve?"

"What? You said it. Besides, I am bigger."

"Says who?"

"Uh…says the eight inches my six-one has over your five-five."

Okay, that's not just a little annoying. "Don't be a dick. Don't be that guy, Steven."

"Why? Your ego can't take my few extra inches shoved down your throat?"

Danny stands up. He'd laugh if he weren't feeling a little pissed now. Claps his hands and gives Steve a not so humorous grin. "More sexual innuendo. That's good. No, really, because what else would you do—and by you, I mean you and your control-issue self—than try and smack me down with a short joke while also insinuating that you want me to blow your apparently gigantic schlong while I’m trying to have a discussion with you."

"Schlong?"

"Steven—"

"Hey, smack downs with sexual implications—clearly, I'm a multi-tasking kind of guy. Besides, who says I was referring to a blow job?"

Steve's still laughing, and it's such a good look on him, his face lights up so fucking beautifully that Danny can't even begin to suppress his own smile. Although really? Yeah, he's still feeling pretty ticked.

"You're being an asshole kind of guy, actually."

"But in the nicest way, right?"

Which just lets the steam out of Danny's sails, or something like that. He's standing, one hand pinching between his eyes and goddamn Steve for still being fucking adorable even while being a first rate dickhead. Glances up because, yeah, if Steve is anything—and yes, he is a lot of things—it's nice. 

Which is weird, really, considering the variety of extremes Steve's made up from. There's the SEAL part of him, the dive right in without looking part of him, and the getting all up in a bad guy's face part of him…but ultimately, yeah. Danny would still say he was a nice guy. Just a nice, all around, drop dead gorgeous hunk of something nice guy who also just happens to be someone who can off a person with a toothbrush and a fuzz ball of pocket lint when the situation arises.

And, goddamn, Danny is so saddled with him. Knows this implicitly, and shakes his head more over the realization that he is just so fucked over this guy—his Steve—than what the entire last ten minutes of conversation were about. Who gives a shit if Steve has unrestrained control issues? It can only play out in a good way for Danny. He banks on it most of the time. 

"Yeah," he assures Steve, "that's right. You are nice. In the nicest of asshole ways."

There's a long beat then, a pause that has them both staring the shit off of one another and it's there, there deep in Steve's eyes that Danny absolutely finds himself sinking. Like a man in quicksand, and the more he moves, the more he's stuck.

Steve reaches over the counter, one hand bracing around Danny's arm and there's nowhere to go. Danny couldn't step away even if he wanted to—and he sure as shit doesn't want to now.

"Let me show you just how nice, Danny," Steve breathes, voice soft and lingering as he says Danny's name, riding along like it's the only word he cares about…

…and Danny gets that, because he's lived these past years, months, days, just knowing exactly who he wants to be with in the best of the worst possible ways, of course, but still, he does know. He does, he wants to be in Steve's bed, wants Steve in his, and he's thinking he'd really like to do that now. Now, as in, right now.

Hard to believe it's taken this long for them to get to this point. Seriously, after all the months and weeks of build up—would they or wouldn't they _ever_ —filled with slow touches that turned to caresses that lead to more touches, more caresses. Finally those few months ago, that first kiss in the car—of course, it would be in the middle of an argument—when Danny couldn't stand it one more week, one more day, one more minute, and had made the first move and, of course, Steve then had to take over the kiss and be in control.

So what began with that one kiss slowly grew to fleeting touches, quick kisses and passing gropes that finally turned into full body clenches, toe curling tongue sucks and deep-throated blow jobs. All of which has just lead to Danny wanting more. And more.

"Fuck me," he states, meeting Steve half way across the countertop and surprising himself because jesus, fuck, those words did _not_ just go spilling out all over everywhere.

They've not done that before—not _that_. Not flesh in flesh. Finger in flesh and tongue in flesh maybe—okay, a little, yes, they did kinda-sorta do that one or two times—but they haven't done the whole push comes to shove it all the way down deep and what the hell is _that_ going to feel like?

Yes, Danny messed around with guys in his younger, pre-Rachel days. Yes, he's definitely looked and touched a little bit post-Rachel, too, but nothing like he just suggested, no. Now he's face-to-face with Steve after a couple of pretty awesome weeks of groping, sweating and some fairly spectacular blow jobbing—and look at what sort of insanity comes shooting out of his mouth.

The minute he says it the nerves begin, not that he could take it back if he wanted to, which he doesn't. God, the idea alone is doing all kind of crazy things to his points south.

He wants it. Wants Steve. Wants all of him. "Fuck me," he repeats and a spiral of something wicked and hot sears him from the inside out when he realizes that he does really want that, wants Steve just like that. He's dizzy and lightheaded and quite possibly hyperventilating because he suddenly can't quite breathe, but he's also so turned on that he's about crawling out of his skin.

There's a long pause where Steve just stares at him. Long, long pause comprised of enough elapsed time that Danny feels heat climbing up his neck and he's sure he's glowing with all sorts of awkward embarrassment. Shit. Sets the saltshaker into another crazy spin before Steve grabs it out of his hands to calmly places it upright, away from reach. He then takes a light hold of one of Danny's wrists.

Danny can't stand it. "Um, Steven, this rather uncomfortable long pause we're both currently suffering through might very well be one you could perhaps, you know, fill."

Steve grins hugely. "You want me to fill it?''

Shithead. Danny would really like to smack him, because sometimes Steve can just be so seventh grade adolescent. "Oh my god, please don't tell me you're still trying to throw innuendo my way now. I already said I wanted, well, _you know_. You know what I said."

"Say it again."

Seriously? He stares at Steve's round, deep, who-knows-what-color-they-are-today eyes and tries not to lose his mind. "Fuck me." Another long pause. "Kind of a yes or no type deal, here, Steve."

"Danny. Really? You sure? Really sure?" Steve's earnest face comes out to take center stage, and a flushing heat drops straight from Danny's neck into Danny's dick.

He coughs a little, bravado leeching into his words and he sure as hell wishes he could feel as confident as he sounds. "Sure, I'm sure. 'Course, I'm sure. I'm sure I'm sure. Aren't you sure?"

"Oh, I am definitely sure," Steve tells him, and then is on the move, fast. Danny just automatically begins to follow. It's pretty much been like this from the beginning, him following Steve. Sure, they've had their share of no real meeting of the minds during a lot of situations, but clearly this is not one of them.

Danny pulls on Steve's shirt. "This. Off."

"Trying to prove you're a pushy sort of alpha, aren't you?" Steve says, laughing, already divesting himself of his shirt and peeling it away as though cameras were clicking. They're not even five minutes into this weird conversation and Steve's already almost half-naked. It's amazing, really, that Steve's taking off his shirt is about the most sensual thing Danny has witnessed since, well, since the last time Steve removed his shirt which was probably just a few days ago given the man's penchant for disrobing during the course of the work day.

Not that Danny's complaining, no. He's just standing there, trying hard not stare a hole through Steve's chest. Gazing at those broad shoulders. Those tattoos: those beautiful, ridiculously over-the-top lickable tattoos.

He looks up at Steve and catches his eyes. Steve's grinning like he knows he's the best looking thing Danny's seen in a lifetime, and Danny chuffs that away with a hand wave because, while that is absolutely true, Steve's head doesn't need any more ego boosts over how he looks. The man knows exactly what he looks like.

He laughs at Steve calling him pushy and fiddles with the buttons on his own shirt, thinking in the back of his head that Steve must work out in his sleep to always be primed and cut like that.

"Pushy—I'm all sorts of pushy. How is that news? You should know that by now. It's the New Jersey in me. We can't help it; we're just born this way." His shirt is stuck. How the hell is his shirt stuck? What the hell is wrong with his buttons? For fuck's sake, he's going to just yank the thing off.

"I don’t think you were born _that_ way," Steve says with a nod and another one of those slow perusals, eyes slowly tracking all the way up, all the way down, then anchoring where Danny's hands are still fumbling with buttons. "I mean, you didn't actually come into the world with a little tiny button down all in place, did you? You need a helping hand there, Daniel?"

"Don't Daniel me—I got it. I got it. Just gimme a sec here, not like I'm not perfectly capable of managing a few small—there. See? Open, off and done." He shakes off his shirt and lets it crumple to the floor in a heap, turning with a wide smile, open arms, buttons free, and then catches Steve's eyes and fuck the fucking fuck; if the look on Steve's face could be bottled and packaged and sold, he'd make a freakin' bazillion dollars.

"Oh, yeah. I see all right." Steve says and keeps on smiling as if he's actually enjoying hearing Danny ramble, and Danny knows he's still doing the rambling but, honest to god, his brain is still trying to scramble together what's happening in the here and now and concentration just isn't his strong suit at this precise juncture. Frankly, he just can't help himself.

Nerves and the actuality of what it is he's offered up are starting to hit home and he can't say he's not feeling a little high-strung about it all. It's been a long—long—long time since the last time, which was the only time—and even then not totally the whole way, if he's remembering correctly, which he's pretty sure he is because it's not like he'd forget something like _that_. He was in his early twenties at the time and that was a while ago and it's not exactly like riding a bike, he's pretty damn sure, and, anyway, he'd been half-drunk when it kinda-sorta happened. 

Goes for a little laissez-faire attitude, now, though. "You see. Oh, yeah? What do you see, Commander?"

Because, okay, well, he knows what _he_ sees. Steve has very expressive eyes and right now, Danny sees all kinds of alpha attitude storming up in them at his calling Steve 'Commander'. Again, he's good at knowing which buttons do what, and, good god, if he can get through the next two minutes without coming on the spot, he'll finish this night a very happy man.

They're inches apart, both drawing together until hands meet skin, fingers tracing over smooth lines and hard edges. Then it's more buttons undone (and who still wears button-flies, for shit's sake, Steve), zipper unzipped, shoes shucked, socks unpeeled and for one gut-clenching moment, Danny totally regrets the morning's decision of wearing the boxers with the little green palm trees and round coconuts all over them. They were a gift from Grace, and for the sweet love of breakfast cereal, he does _not_ need to be thinking of his baby girl right this second.

Steve's giving him a steady, hard, all over perusal that stops at the little rainforest currently covering his crotch. He then leans forward to whisper, "I knew you secretly loved it here, D." Or mumbles it, really. It's kind of hard for Danny to tell when the man's shoving his tongue into his ear at the same time.

'Here' could mean anything from this volcanic rock he's ensconced on to this place right between Steve's arms, and he grins from where he's shoved up against the man's bare skin and breathes out against the few chest hairs tickling his lips. "You keep on thinking whatever it is that makes you happy, Steve." Yelps, then, when fingers plunge into the back of those boxers and tuck themselves sharply into the crease of his ass.

He's about to usher up a protest when there's a sudden shift in the balance of, well, him, and the next thing he finds is that he's flat on his back staring up at the lights on Steve's kitchen's ceiling.

"Uh, Steven. You cannot be serious."

Above him, Steve just grins like the complete doofus he is. 

"Oh, see…hell no," Danny protests with a push of a hand to Steve's chest and trying to rise up after because doing this—fucking—on the small kitchen table is just so not happening. "Not happening."

"What do you mean? You said you want me to—"

"Yes," Danny agrees, sees how abashed Steve looks and tries very hard to rein in the tone he knows he's exuding when all he really wants to do is scream out his annoyance about how so very typical of Steve this all is. "Yes, Steven, that is exactly what I want to do. But not here."

"Not here?"

Ridiculous. "Not _here_ where I've eaten and you've eaten and—and Grace has eaten, for shit's sake. Have you no sense of decorum?"

Steve's leaning on his hands, braced on either side of Danny and he has that perplexed look to his eyes. "Decorum? Really? Like as in what Miss Manners might say about doing it or not doing it on the kitchen table? Is there someone here you're trying to impress, Danny? Because as far as I can tell, there's you—and there's me. And that's about it."

Nudging Steve gets him shifting somewhat, and while Danny would be happy to explain the intricacies of the 'wheres' and 'hows' of acceptable 'fuck me' spots, he's annoyed enough to just shove Steve up and out of his way as he shimmies himself as best he can off the table. "I’m not saying no to _you_ , you freaking moron. I'm just saying no to the dinette."

It takes a few seconds, but realization finally dawns and Danny grabs Steve's hand and starts them up the stairs.

"You. You have a perfectly good bed—a large bed—and I think that might work much better than us trying to break the table."

Steve clearly gets the picture, starts pushing them both up the stairs and pretty much rushes Danny down the hall toward his bedroom. "Okay. We can break the bed. Got it. You know what, Danny? Sometimes you do have the best ideas."

Which makes Danny chuckle. "Yeah. _Now_ you think I have good ideas."

"Good ideas. Idea. This one—this one is a great idea."

Then it hits him again. What they're about to do. What he agreed to do, what he wants to do—with Steve—but he can't say that a little tiny pang of panic isn't worming its way up his spine. It is—he is—feeling panicked. A bit. A little bit. Maybe a whole lot little bit.

Steve stops abruptly and turns them so Danny's back hits the bedroom wall. Steve's long fingers wrap his jaw while his other hand braces around Danny's back until they're a fraction of an inch apart. Steve's leg shoves its way between Danny's thighs and is pressing high and tight, then Steve leans down until they're breathing the same air space and shit-shit-shit yes, Danny thinks. Just all the way yes, no pun intended.

Steve can kiss, god, how Steve can kiss. Of course Danny already knows how well they fit together, they've been in this position several times now. Steve bends just enough and he lifts onto his toes just enough to slot and pin their way tightly together. Knows somehow that this size difference, Steve's body kind of enveloping his the way it does, has turned out to be one of the biggest _secret_ turn-ons he's ever harbored. 

There are clean, fresh sheets on Steve's bed—which they never would have had if this had happened at his place, Danny thinks with no small sense of relief that they're here and not there—and a faint night breeze is wafting through half opened windows. Danny shifts to sit on the bed.

"Take those off," Steve tells him, nodding to the palm tree boxers while heading to the bathroom. "I'll be right back."

"Okay." Settle down, he tells himself. Why he can't find a comfortable place for his hands is beyond him. What is wrong with him all of a sudden? Now he's just sitting here, feet on the floor, hands in his lap and suddenly feeling just kind of awkward as he waits for Steve to finish up. This is ridiculous.

Jumps up as Steve comes back into view, and points to the bathroom. "I should, uh—go, too."

Has to squeeze tightly past Steve who nods, "Yeah, you should do that," and doesn't give so much as an inch of space so their bodies are forced to slide skin over skin as they pass by in the bathroom doorway. Danny feels a hand squeeze his ass, hard, and then Steve's words, "Hurry back," trail after him as he closes the door.

Paces for a few seconds and jeeze, he can't think about any of this too much or he'll never be able to pee. It takes him a full minute of mentally trying to relax before he can, then washes his hands and gives himself a long stare in the mirror. Steve's toothpaste is next to the sink and he finger brushes his teeth just in case.

"Here goes nothing," he whispers to his reflection, making one last finger-comb pass through his hair before taking a deep breath and opening the door to head back into Steve's bedroom.

"Whhh—" The breath just whooshes out of him in one sharp rush and it's a full beat before he remembers what, specifically, is supposed to come next. Inhale, inhale, which he finally does but, oh lord, who can think of things like breathing when that—when Steve—is on display like that?

He leans against the bathroom doorjamb, folds his arms and just stares. "What, you check out a bunch of porn sites to find just the right pose?" Waves a hand up and down. "Look at you. Nobody really looks like that. Like you. You look—you look—"

"The next word out of your mouth had better be delicious."

Danny was going to say like something that should have a staple in its middle but gets all distracted by, well, everything. Steve's smile makes his dick twitch.

He smiles in return and then realizes that a few long seconds have passed with them just staring and smiling at one another. Something deep in his chest swells and he glances down, still grinning and knowing exactly what that feeling means and it's truly amazing to see the same reflected back to him from Steve's eyes.

Things are getting a little too thick. All they need now is some ridiculous sappy Neil Diamond song to be playing and they'd be a Hallmark commercial—okay, a really, really adult rated commercial but still...

He pushes off the wall to launch a flying tackle onto the bed—onto Steve—because while his head may be full of caution and nerves, his body is screaming out to go for it and do it now because that man is sprawled out like a buffet just waiting to be served. 

He's got his tongue as deep as he can shove into Steve's mouth, and his hands—both hands— are gripping, groping, squeezing as much flesh as he can get his fingers around. There isn't one of his senses that isn't filling with everything Steve; it's a heady rush. It's like… "McGarrett overload."

Steve rises up on one arm, his face flushed and lips looking somewhat swollen and he's staring right at Danny's lips. "Did you just say my name?"

"No. I don't know. Maybe." Who knows? Who can think? He traces a finger down Steve's face, letting his hand drop as he just stares. "Why are you smiling like that?"

Steve laughs. "Because you said my name—and because you're going to let me fuck you stupid."

"Think I'm halfway there already." Something flips in Danny's stomach, then a hand smacks down hard on his ass. "Hey!"

"Roll on over, D."

Which Danny does, nerves beginning to set in again, and he looks at Steve over his shoulder. "You want hands and knees, or—"

Steve's rummaging around in a drawer, nodding as he pulls out a small bottle of lube and a strip of condoms. He holds them up and Danny's eyes widen. 

"Huh. Wow. Whaddaya got there, like five of those? Thinking rather highly of yourself, aren't you?" Not to mention Danny can't quite wrap his head about doing this the one time, never mind any repeat action as the night progresses.

"Let's just work on this first time for the moment," Steve replies, and he's got both hands on Danny's ass now, both rubbing and kneading.

"What are you—not a sourdough here, you know."

Warm breath hits his ear. "Just trying to get you relaxed. So let me do this and relax."

So Danny closes his eyes and lets Steve’s hands continue to do what they're doing. Feels lips trailing up and down his spine. Feels one of Steve's hands caressing his nipple before it drifts over and down his abdomen, around and down his back, all of which is definitely helping him to relax…until a slicked up finger suddenly dips between his ass cheeks.

"You're tensing, Danny."

"Oh, I'm sorry. You just wedged your big-ass finger between my cheeks without notice. Not a 'head's up' or 'brace yourself' or 'please' to be found in the preamble." God, how the hell is he going to get through this if he jumps at every finger?

"I barely touched you and, really? Preamble?"

Steve shifts back some, Danny can feel Steve leaning his weight against his ass. He drops his forehead to the mattress and sighs. "I'm sorry, babe. I am. I do want this, I just—I've never and we—"

Hands wrap his waist, Steve's thumbs massaging the muscles in his back. "Danny. We don't have to do this. It was your idea; I don’t care if we just spend the whole time lying here watching TV instead. I just want to be with you. Here, or wherever."

He does, too. "I know, and I do want to. I do."

Steve shifts up again, his body blanketing Danny's. "Then let me do the work, and you just relax and feel."

"Okay. Okay, I can do that," Danny sighs, and mentally tries to focus on what Steve's hands are doing, where they're touching him. How soft, how hard, how fast and slow, tickling and pressing and the long, deep and very loud moan that he lets slip loose really isn't his fault at all.

"Now you're sounding more relaxed."

Danny smirks. "With all the petting, you're making it kinda hard not to be." A hand wraps around his growing erection and squeezes and he laughs when Steve laughs.

"Kinda hard is right."

They shift to their sides, each dropping down to the soft sheets to spoon together while Steve's hands continue their movement. Danny hasn't felt this boneless in forever, tries to let each muscle release as Steve works his hands along his body.

"Danno?"

"Steve?'"

"Uh, head's up? Brace yourself? Please?"

He snorts loudly. Okay, yes, he did. Can't help it and, and…. "Oh my god. Really? You’re giggling, Steven."

"Danny, you snorted. I'm sorry, it was funny."

Starts chuckling himself, then, "Stop it and get back to, ohhh, that…" because there's now a finger, a very wet and slicked up finger lightly playing between his cheeks.

"Danny, relax."

"I'm trying! You think this is easy when you just jump in there?"

Steve rocks him a nudge. "I gave you a 'head's up' and a 'brace yourself'."

Rolls his closed eyes and really does try to relax, even with all that’s going on behind him. "Like that makes all the difference."

“I gave you a please.”

“Fuck, Steve—I’m—I don’t know what I am.”

Steve's mouth is right next to his ear. "Danny, it's okay. I know what I'm doing, so just let me do this…"

And he's in—or Steve's one finger is, anyway, which is a vaguely familiar weirdness he's felt before although not quite as deep--and he can't say he's loving it so far but… 

"You okay?"

Nods. "It's not…awful."

"Not exactly what I was going for here." Steve shifts a bit behind him, then, "Hang on…gonna add another."

"O—oh!--kay." Which, yeah. Okay. There's two now and no, this isn't exactly—he's not sure this is—

A hand presses down onto his hip, and Steve's teeth rake lightly over his upper back. "Shhh. I gotcha, Danny. It's all good, trust me."

It's wet, is what it is. And feels huge and weird and slick, really slick, and then they're moving inside him. Deep inside, which is just…not so horrible, but not exactly…

Steve's voice is in his ear again, soothing and calming, like it doesn't belong to the kind of guy who enjoys sleeping with a grenade under his pillow. "One more. Relax. You're doing great."

"I'm sweating." He is, it's trickling down his skin and he feels overly hot and prickly sensitive right now.

"Okay. Here we go." Steve's moving around behind him, shifting and getting into some kind of different position and then, "Jeeze, Danny, you've got the ass of steel. Unclench and let me in."

"I am unclenched."

"No, you're not. You’re very clenched. Talk about a tight ass and, ah, okay. There we go."

Danny's eyes are squeezed shut and he's lightly panting and who knew not tightening up would be so difficult?

"Breathe, Danny. You're doing great. Just great. Keep breathing."

Opens his eyes and blurts out, "This reminds me of when Rachel had Grace, what with the panting and the breathing and the comments and oh, god, I do not need to be thinking about that right now."

Okay, okay, he's okay. Deep breaths, stop tensing up. Steve's behind him with who knows how many fingers up his ass and they're wiggling, scissoring a bit in there and it's okay. It's not like it really hurts. He's fine. It's fine. It's good. It's a crazy full feeling—and then suddenly it's Steve pushing in, a whole lot of Steve. What feels like all of Steve and he wants to scream for fuck's sake don't move at the same time he wants Steve to move more, and how fucking weird is this whole scenario? 

"God, Danny…hold still for a sec, let me get…" Steve is breathing hard in his ear. "Oh, god, that's good. You feel so good, you have no idea."

Danny closes his eyes. Realizes he's been holding his breath and lets out a long exhale and tells himself, again, to relax. It’s strange and huge, though. Different. Hurts some, but it's okay, it's good and…wait. No. No, it is good. It's getting good. Not bad. Really kind of good…

"Oh, that's…" Kinda amazing, is what it is. He's never quite felt something so deeply inside him and he can hardly move himself but it's, oh… "Steve, god. Steve, that's…" he's breathing out, saying Steve's name over and over and his eyes are closed tightly and he wants it to stop at the same time he hopes it never does stop, ever. It's too much and not enough and Steve is slowly moving in and out. There's a bit of friction, like an itch he can't find to scratch, and it drags on his skin and he’d think it would be horribly painful but it's so, so wet and not so bad….

"Danny, my Danny," Steve whispers over his shoulder, and he can hear his breathing pick up pace at the same time they start to move together.

Then it's moaning and moving and gasping and shifting and he has no idea when, exactly, it happened but Steve's coming. He wants to, too, but fuck, he can’t, he can’t--and then Steve’s starts pulling out of him and a hand wraps firmly around his cock, starts moving and he clenches and holds his breath and comes as hard as he has ever--oh, holy fuck. He has never felt so completely drained in his life.

Every muscle feels completely spent and if someone asked him directions to the bathroom he couldn't manage enough thought process to do it.

Steve's moved away and is off somewhere but Danny doesn’t care. He cannot move. He’s never going to move ever again. Ever. Not even an inch. "You broke me," he mumbles. "You broke me, Steven."

Then Steve returns and Danny feels something warm and wet sliding in and around his stomach and legs and ass, and he rolls over to see Steve kneeling on the bed beside him. "I may never be the same. Ever." Reaches up a hand to trace over Steve's amazing face. "I am completely devoid of energy. If a grenade went off right now, in this room, right here, I would not be able to move. Not that I'm trying to plant any ideas. But moving? Not happening."

Steve's smiling down at him. "Huh. Okay. So I guess that means I'm sleeping in the other room, then? Because you're sprawled all over the center of the bed, taking up all the space."

Danny takes a moment to consider. Tilts his head as he studies Steve. "I suppose you're asking me to move over so you can crawl in here?"

"Well, it is my bed."

"Your bed." He inches over some, slipping under the covers, his ass sending him a tiny twinge with every shift and slide over the mattress. "Your bed. I suppose you're going to want some covers then, too."

Steve slides into bed beside him, pushing and nudging and basically manhandling Danny until they're comfortably fitted together, each on their left side, Steve's arm and one leg draped across Danny's body. Steve then pulls and tugs at the sheet and light blanket, shifting and tucking it here and there until Danny can't stand it one more second.

"Jeeze, enough, already, Steven. Sheets are fine. Blankets are fine. I'm fine. You're insane. Everything's as it should be, so settle down already." Steve's fingers are tracing up and down his arm, and he can sense him still watching him even through the dark of the room. "What now?"

"You really okay? Was it, you know, because I'm not sure if…"

Steve sounds a bit tentative, like he really is asking because he wants to know, and Danny smiles at that. Reaches a hand to brush over Steve's, their fingers threading together. 

"That…that was…amazing. I mean, so much better than I thought it would be like." He closes his eyes, a thought dawning a second later. "And do not even for one second get all smug about it. That was only the first time, babe. We've only just scratched the surface. As they say, practice makes perfect and I have a few ideas we're going to try." 

"Yeah, okay," Steve replies and lets his arm drop heavily onto Danny, who wraps his own arm on top of Steve's and shifts backward so his back is about adhered to Steve's chest. "Ideas, huh?''

"You like my ideas, Steven. You said so. Do I need to remind you what you said earlier?"

"No, I remember." There's a nose tucked behind his ear and Steve's words are soft breath against his skin. He smiles when he hears Steve add, "Now who's having control issues?"

"What did I tell you," Danny mumbles, mostly asleep. "Me: alpha. You: alpha. Just two alphas in a pod."

"My pod."

"Sleep, Steve."

End.


End file.
